The Boy, The Traitor and The Spy
by Nightlock Stained Lips
Summary: WW2 AU, AH. Jace Herondale is a spy and Clary Morgenstern is harboring a Jew. They are playing a dangerous game that one misstep could cost them their lives. Set in the heart of Nazi Germany during World War II. [Cameos by some TID characters later on]
1. Chapter 1

**_December, 1943. Berlin._**

_It's hypocrisy, all of it. _Clary couldn't help think bitterly. There was a war outside of their door and yet here she was, her father hosting a _dinner party_. Her father says it's essential in keeping his officer's morale up, it took all of Clary's self-control not to laugh at her father's face. Officials and suck-ups were only fattening themselves further as the rest of the populace was left to survive on meager rations.

"Smile. If you keep looking like you're in pain then you soon will be." A cool voice whispered in her ear.

Clary stretched her mouth into something that looked least like a grimace, "Jonathan." she greeted.

"Better. Now come, Herr Fuhrmann and his son are waiting to be introduced." her brother said as he took her by the crook of the elbow and led her though the crowd.

Clary pressed her teeth tighter together. It made her skin crawl as her brother and father continuously try to pawn her off as some Aryan brood mare. She found a little comfort in the fact that even her father's brainless lackeys are reluctant to marry someone who was half English. Unlike Jonathan, born and raised in the Fatherland and inherited their father's pale hair and dark eyes. Clary's connections were enough for her to be tolerated but not enough to keep her from being a social pariah. Her bright, red hair and Western ways made her stick out like a sore thumb, a constant reminder that she was not—and never will be—one of them.

She went through the motions without feeling. Smiling politely and shaking hands but the names and faces were all blurs. All the while, Jonathan was never a stone's throw away, making sure she kept up appearances.

They were all close. Too close. Suffocating her slowly, she had to get out of there.

"Fraulein Morgenstern, are you alright? You seem quite pale." Herr something or the other asked,

"Clarissa," Jonathan reappeared at her shoulder, brotherly concern oozing from him but the steely glint in his eyes said otherwise.

"I am sorry, I feel a little ill. I need some air." Clary could no longer take it as she pushed her way past startled guests towards the back door, leaving her brother apologizing in her wake. She would surely pay for that later but she didn't care.

Clary took huge gulps of the frigid Berlin night air, the harsh cold was a jolt to her senses. She stood in the alley where their back door emptied into, savoring the moment of silence and solitude until the clang of a metal garbage can spilling over at the end of the alley.

Her curiosity won over caution as she neared the source of the noise. Clary couldn't contain her gasp as she saw who it was.

It was a boy and he looked to be in his early twenties like her. His brown curls were matted and long, as if he hadn't cut or cleaned it in a while. He was too skinny, like his skin was stretched over his skeleton with hardly any meat in between. His clothing was ragged and filthy, one sleeve of his coat had a leftover piece of yellow cloth that must have been torn off. Clary zeroed in on his left leg, the pant leg was dark with blood, his bony hand over the top of his thigh in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding.

Clary found his eyes unnerving, they were big, dark and no matter how defeated his body looked there was a fire in his eyes. He kept staring at her with the same defiance in his eyes.

"Are you going to scream?" he asked in a raspy voice.

Clary didn't know whether it was pity, mercy, her anger at her father and his cohorts or a mix of all of them.

"Come on, they'll come looking for me soon enough. The cellar window's unlocked I think, hurry."

The confusion was plain on the young man's face as Clary scooted down to his right side as to not get blood on herself. Clary was relieved it had not snowed yet and the alley floor was dark enough for the blood trail to be unnoticed.

They shuffled as fast as they could with the boy's injured and unusable leg, like a grim version of a three legged race. Her heart banged against her ribcage as they struggled towards the small window near the back door.

"Go, go!" she urged as she heard her brother call out her name from inside the house, looking for her.

The young man's foot no sooner slipped through the small cellar window when a beam of light came from the open door.

"Father's looking for you. You're in a lot of trouble running off like that." Jonathan barked at her. Clary hadn't realized how badly her hands were shaking as she crept closer to her brother.

"I'm coming,"

Her heart was still pumping, the boy, the blood and the flash of something yellow and torn on one of his sleeves. She still couldn't believe it, she just smuggled a Jew into the house of a high-ranking SS officer, her own father no less.


	2. Chapter 2

**[Thank you so much to those who reviewed, followed and favorited!]**

* * *

Clary had been right, her abrupt disappearance had earned her a sharp, stinging slap. But a slap would be the least of her problems once her father finds how a Jew managed to end up in their cellar.

The house was still and silent, the alcohol had induced a deeper than normal sleep in her brother and father. Clary was internally grateful for that as she crept through the halls in the dark, not bothering to get a light yet for fear of getting caught. Clary held her tongue as she groped the walls like a blind person, soon enough her vision adjusted to the dim surrounding.

A quick dash to the kitchen got her half a loaf of stale bread, a pitcher of water and a small first aid kit, things that no one would miss the next day. Clary cringed as the old cellar door gave a small squeak, every small noise seemed louder in the silence. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding once it seemed that no one was getting up.

The cellar smelled dank and musty, of air that was cooped up for a long time. The steps creaked with age and dust flew up into the air with each of Clary's steps. She was thankful their cellar had been deemed too shallow to be used as a proper air raid shelter. That thought dredged up the fearful reminder of what would happen should there be a raid, but she figured she'll cross that bridge when she gets there.

"Who's there?" the boy's voice called out, weak and raspy from disuse.

"Don't worry, it's just me."

Weak moonlight filtered through the dingy window bathed the boy in pale light. He slumped against the dark wall but his quick eyes stayed on Clary as she carefully approached him.

"Here, I… uh… brought some food." She held out the bread, he eyed it warily.

"Don't worry, I haven't poisoned it or anything," Clary assured him.

His hunger must have won over as he lunged for the bread and ravaged it with such speed as if he thought it would be taken away from him at any minute. In a small amount of time he had already polished off the half loaf and quickly turned to the water that Clary had also brought.

"Woah, you should slow down before you make yourself sick." She paused for a moment, "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Clary dashed back up the rickety stairs and eventually came back with some crackers, more water and a few old blankets. She let him finish the extra food before addressing the issue with his leg.

"You need to let me take a look at it. Do you want it to get infected?" Clary wheedled until the boy begrudgingly allowed her treat it.

The boy's clothes were practically falling apart as Clary snipped the pant leg open, peeling off the filthy pieces of cloth. Then cleaning the area as best she could with some of the water she saved before examining the wound. The bullet seemed to have passed right through the leg, it had not been fatal since it hadn't hit any major artery or bone but caused enough damage to make walking quite difficult and painful.

"How… how did you get this?"

The boy gave out a bark of laughter, "How do you think? I got it running away from those rabid Gestapo."

Clary tried the best she could to clean and patch it up, although the stitches were a little clumsy, they should hold well enough. In fairness, the boy held it together quite well even with the occasional wince and flinching.

"Here," Clary handed him the blankets,

"Thank you. I have no idea why you're doing this but… thank you."

A small smile crept on Clary's lips,

"You're welcome…?"

"Simon, my name's Simon."

"You're welcome, Simon. I'm Clary. Now, I should let you rest. I'll try to come back as soon as I can with food and in the meantime please stay quiet."

The boy gave her a small smile and made a zipping gesture over his lips.

* * *

Over the past few days Clary would sneak down to the cellar when her father and brother were out or asleep, because of the war they were down to one housekeeper who came around twice a week and they only hired more help when needed, hence Clary had a lot of free time on her hands. So far, no one has yet noticed anything unusual.

"Here," Clary came down one afternoon after her father and brother had left for their work. She was breathless from carrying a pail sloshing with water in one arm and a bundle in the other.

Setting down the water, she threw the bundle at him. "Some of my brother's old clothes, I know it might not be an exact fit but it's the closest I could get right now. And here," she took out a washcloth and set it by the pail "If you're feeling a little grimy."

"Thanks," Simon stood, inspecting the clothes. They were a simple, clean pair of a button up shirt and trousers, though they were clearly made for a taller, bulkier person.

Clary smiled, "I'll leave you to your washing up."

"Clary,"

She turned, that was the first time he actually called her by name.

"Thank you,"

"You're welcome,"

"No, I really mean it. We don't even know each other and you took this risk for me."

"Well, we could fix that."

"Fix what exactly?"

"Not knowing each other. I mean you kind of are living at my house," Clary gestured to their surroundings "I hope maybe we can even be friends."

"Friends," Simon said slowly, as if he were feeling the word out, "I think I'd like that."

Simon and Clary did get more comfortable with each other. Simon finally had someone to actually talk to while Clary had someone who wouldn't give her a nasty look when she said she didn't agree with the garbage the Third Reich was stuffing down people's throats. He got comfortable enough to confess that he used to live in America when he was very young until his father died. He also told of how he got separated from his family when they were on the run and he had a little brush with the Gestapo, hence the gunshot. Clary, in turn, told him of how her mother annulled her father and took her to New York. She told him sadly how her mother got ill, she had to stay with her father and got stuck after the war erupted.

"I haven't been able to send a letter or anything, I don't even know if my mother's alive."

"I know the feeling," he said sadly.

* * *

The cellar lit up with mellow yellow light from the afternoon as the two people in the room laughed.

"You didn't!" Clary shrieked, hand flying up to her mouth to stifle her laughter,

"I did! I was what? Six? I honestly asked my neighbor if she ate her baby and that's why her stomach was huge."

The two dissolved in laughter as Simon regaled Clary with his animated storytelling.

"I can't believe you actual—" Clary was cut off when the front bell sounded. The both of them froze.

Clary quickly left to answer the door, ready to tell off whoever it was to come back later. Her words ready as she yanked the door open,

"I'm sorry but you'll have to come ba—"

Her words died as she realized who was standing on her front step.

He was a good length taller than she, broad shouldered and with handsome features. He seemed to be a year or two older than she was. He was all gold, leonine and beautiful. He would have been utterly breathtaking if it wasn't for the SS uniform and the arrogant smirk on his face.

"Can I help you?" Clary snapped,

"Fraulein Morgenstern, I take it?"

He seemed to be too young to be hanging around her father, he must be here for Jonathan then.

"My brother's not home."

"Ah, well, I apologize for disturbing you."

Clary gave a brisk nod and her eyes flitted briefly to his uniform, distaste coloring her expression for a split second. She stretched her mouth into a smile and was about to say goodbye,

"Has my uniform offended you?"

_Damn._ He caught her look. Her father and her brother had soured the idea of a man in uniform for her, especially that of an SS.

"No—no! I just, uh, I, uh… was remembering something that… I… forgot." Her cheeks started to heat up to her dismay.

That smirk of his widened into a full on smile, a smile of a man who was used to women getting flustered over his looks. Clary wanted to slap it off his face, _arrogant jerk!_

"Is there anything else?" Clary tried to keep her face straight,

"Could you tell Jonathan that Jace Wayland stopped by?"

Clary nodded, wanting to get this awkward situation over with.

"Oh, and nice meeting you, Fraulein Morgenstern."


	3. Chapter 3

"Clarissa! Hurry up and remember to dress nicely, we've got a guest." Jonathan rapped sharply on her door once more.

Clary huffed but bit back her response. She hadn't bothered dressing up too nicely, she couldn't care less about impressing some stuffy SS officer at their table. Instead, deciding on a modest cream dress with the Morgenstern ring as her only adornment.

Clary played with the silver ring dangling on a thin silver chain over her chest as she thought of Simon downstairs. She couldn't help but have some anxiety in facing her father and brother, worried she may let something slip by accident.

"Clarissa, would you stop fidgeting," her father snapped, "Stay here with your brother and greet our guest while I go make a last minute check with the kitchen."

Rolling her eyes at her father's retreating back, she found her father so suffocating, always having to instruct her with everything as if she were still a child.

"Here he is," Jonathan called out. Clary hadn't bothered to turn around when she froze.

"Good evening, sir. Thank you for inviting me," she recognized that voice.

_Oh please no_ she prayed, she couldn't face him after she embarrassed herself in front of him.

"Clarissa," Jonathan called her, "I'd like you to meet—"

"Fraulein Morgenstern," Jace greeted her jovially. He was still as she remembered him, complete with that same insufferably arrogant smile.

"You've met?" Jonathan asked, surprised.

"Oh yes, I was coming to visit you but you weren't here so I was fortunate enough to meet your lovely sister at the door."

"Alright then," Jonathan shrugged before turning towards the dining area.

Clary felt Jace fall into step beside her, lowering his voice

"I wore my uniform again, I hope it doesn't bother you this time." It riled her to hear the amusement in his voice,

"Look. I'll be direct. I was just distracted, I had a lot of things on my mind at the time."

"That's completely understandable, you're not the first to be distracted by my looks."

Clary couldn't help but snort, _this guy needed to get over himself_. She could hardly stand men who think too highly of themselves.

"Your looks wasn't what distracted me. It was your giant ego blocking out the sun for a moment." She couldn't help but feel triumphant as she left him, dumbfounded, to go to her seat.

"Ah, Herr Wayland, I've been hearing good things about you." Her father greeted Jace, extending his hand,

Jace took the hand in a brief shake, "Thank you sir, I'm grateful for the invitation."

The quartet sat themselves at the table, hardly taking up space for the furniture meant to host twelve, a remnant of the extravagance of the past. Clary pressed her lips together as Jace took the seat opposite hers, right of her brother and left of her father at the head of the table. Jace caught her eye for a moment and sent a wink her way. Clary tried to smother the scowl forming on her face, eyes narrowing at Jace.

"Is there something wrong?" her brother asked, his dark, keen eyes catching the change in her expression.

"Ah, I just thought I saw something but it was nothing." She hadn't even finished her sentence when her brother's attention had already passed from her.

"So, how are you finding Berlin?" Valentine asked, facing Jace.

"Quite well, sir. Everything and everyone have been very," Jace's momentarily flicked to Clary, "hospitable."

"You should have seen it in its glory," Clary's father mused, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sure it was beautiful. It's a shame I wasn't able to see it. My mother wanted to keep me close, especially after my father passed."

Clary preoccupied herself with her soup, spooning often in her mouth to keep from having to participate in the conversation. The mention of a mother triggered a pang of sadness inside of Clary. _Her mother wanted her close too_, she thought sadly. Her spoon dawdled in the bowl, she found that she wasn't so hungry after all. She zoned out of the conversation as they started into the topic of politics and the ilk. Her attention drifted in and out until something snagged her interest.

"Have you found a young woman that suits your interest yet?" the elder male Morgenstern asked,

Clary had to give it to him, if Jace was taken aback by her father's bluntness he didn't show it.

"Well, I honestly think it's still a little early to tell. I'd rather wait and focus on more important things right now."

Jonathan smiled and shook his head, "That's almost like what my sister said,"

"It is not!" Clary cried indignantly,

"Oh yes, the both of you seem to have this notion of waiting or in your case, dear sister, being picky and calling it waiting. If you keep that up, you might end up an old maid."

Clary shot her brother a dirty look, pent-up anger bubbling up before she could control it, "I'd rather be an old maid than turn into some brood mare—"

"Clarissa!" her father cried out sharply.

"You'll have to forgive her," Jonathan turned to Jace "My sister has quite the temper. She spent too much time with our mother out West and picked up all these radical ideas."

"I'll say," Jace said softly, regarding her with cool indifference. Though, she wasn't sure but she thought she had seen one corner of his mouth twitch as if he was holding back a smile.

Her father's icy look of barely concealed anger kept Clary quiet for the rest of the night.

* * *

Simon's eyes followed the short, fiery haired girl as she paced back and forth spewing out her feelings. His sight honed in on the remnants of a partially healed cut on the corner of her mouth. Simon remembered what could cause something like that. He remembered his sister with a similar wound after a Gestapo pig sent her sprawling to the ground bleeding after a hard hit from his meaty hand bedecked with a gleaming silver ring he probably took from some other Jew.

"Who gave you that?"

Clary stopped mid-sentence, confused for a moment before realizing to what he was referring to. "What makes you so sure it's a who?"

Simon gave her a look as if to say _Really, were going to do that._

"It's for being an embarrassment to the name Morgenstern," She exhaled noisily, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of her shirt "It doesn't matter, I never wanted to be a Morgenstern anyway. I was even going by Fairchild back home."

"Fairchild?"

"My mother's maiden name," a hint of longing seeping into her voice that Simon noticed whenever the subject of Clary's mother came up.

"How—how do you," Clary ventured timidly until Simon gestured for her to keep going, "not forget?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean how do you not forget your family. Like how they sound, how they look like."

"I find it helps to tell stories," Simon watched Clary as a wrinkle appeared between her brows as she digested the information. "So, tell me about your mom and family. Angel knows I've been entertaining you with my embarrassing childhood."

Clary grinned widely at Simon, "Well… I was actually raised in New York but during some summers we'd visit my aunt Charlotte in London."

"Good, what else? What did your aunt look like?"

Clary perked up, setting herself comfortably in front of Simon as she launched into a description of her aunt and childhood. She looked happy rambling on about her fondest memories, Simon watched her with a fascination and another feeling he's not quite sure how to describe yet. Whether it was an infatuation or what, he did not know.

* * *

Clary stood in the corner of the ornate, spacious parlor room. Her hatred for her father's dinner parties held nothing of the soirees some of the other prominent members of Berlin society, still trying to show off even in the midst of a war. The walls featured somber portraits of those long dead alongside the Fuhrer's. Their eyes seemed to be following her, scrutinizing her every movement. The paintings weren't the only eyes on her. She was often a subject of covert glances and murmurs behind cupped hands from the other ladies in the room. Clary has long since ignored them but there was still a little sting in her chest as they all would either avoid her entirely or eye her like she was something dirty on the bottom of their shoes. She tried had to look casually disinterested as a lump formed in her throat when another round of tittering giggles came up at her expense from the nearby audience of women.

"You look like you could use a drink," Clary was mildly startled, she hadn't heard him approach at all, eying Jace as he stood next to her.

"You probably shouldn't stand too close to me. You might catch my un-Nazi-ness or whatever it is they seem to keep saying about me."

Jace said nothing as the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile at her. Before Clary knew it Jace had slipped his hand in hers and was pulling her in the direction of one of the private balconies. The women and some men nearby burst into whispers as the two made their way past.

"Wha—"

"It was stifling in there, don't you think." Jace said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

"No, seriously, you don't know what kind of talk'll happen. They already saw us going here together. You can probably salvage your reputation if you go in now."

"And here I thought you disliked me all this time Fraulein," he smirked at her, Clary only rolled her eyes in response. "You looked like you'd rather eat glass than keep standing there."

"Was it that obvious?"

"A bit, yeah."

"Damn. Well, not all of us can be social butterflies."

"What makes you think I'm a social butterfly anyway?" Clary gave him a deadpan look, "Ok, fine."

"Gee, thanks my knight in shining armor."

"Just call me Sir Jace Wayland." he said as made a mocking half-bow.

Clary turned away from him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. The garden below was really just a raggedy patch of lawn with a few clumps of bare trees all covered in a thin layer of frost. The tops of the trees weren't tall enough to hide the shards of broken buildings of Berlin jutting up from the distance. The moon seemed unnaturally big and bright, everything was eerily still. An involuntary shiver went down Clary's spine.

"You cold?" Jace asked,

"No, but I will take one of those," Clary said as she plucked the cigarette from Jace's slender fingers.

Jace's eyebrows raised as he looked on in amusement and took out another cigarette for himself.

"What?" Clary snapped defensively,

"Nothing, I just thought—"

"That I'd be like those women in there," Clary motioned indoors "A _proper_ Aryan lady who doesn't smoke and whose goal is to pop out as much pureblooded babies to fuel Hitler's army."

"You don't sugarcoat anything, do you?"

"Nope." Clary shook her head, popping the p. Jace gave a low, throaty chuckle.

"Where did you pick up smoking anyhow and don't tell me Jonathan taught you."

"I got curious," Clary said sheepishly, "I found some of Jonathan's and gave it a try." The same cocky smile that irritated Clary now reappeared on his face.

"Stop that,"

"Stop what?"

"Smiling like that!"

"What's wrong with my smile?" Jace arched a brow,

"It's so… _arrogant_."

"What's wrong with acknowledging your positive points?"

Clary simply shook her head in response, crushing the remnants of her cigarette underneath her heel. "Nobody's perfect."

"But you can get close," Jace said nearing her. Clary had to look up to look him in the eye, from their closer proximity she could see the tangle of dark lashes and smell his cologne, something light and pleasant, not at all what she expected.

"I—ehm"

She took a step back and mentally berated herself for freezing up at the first attractive male that gets a little close. She was stronger than that, not some lovesick fool who falls for the first charmer who comes her way, no matter how attractive.

"Herr Wayl—"

Both of them turned as a curvy blonde thing opened the balcony door, stopping at the sight of Clary and wrinkling her nose at the smell of cigarettes. Clary froze, hoping the smell hadn't clung to her. Jace gave a lengthy exhale, giving the blonde a once-over.

"Yes?"

"I was—uhm, looking for you," she gave Clary a disgusted look as she skirted around her to go directly in front of Jace. "You should really be inside, with _better_ company."

"Thank you but no, I'm quite fine out here."

A frown stained the girl's features as she looked at Clary, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. I'm quite enjoying my current company." The girl gave Clary a last dirty look before disappearing inside to no doubt spread news.

Clary faced Jace with her brows raised in question, speaking before she could say anything else "Now, what were we talking about? Oh yes, my flaws. Hmmm… the only thing I can think of is that I can't stand ducks."

"Ducks?" a smile was on Clary's lips at the thought of someone like Jace running away from something as harmless as ducks.

"Bloodthirsty little demons." He said venomously, face twisting into a scowl for a split second at a memory of some heinous crime ducks had apparently inflicted on him.

Clary couldn't help but laugh, it was infectious enough that Jace was soon laughing too, the chilly Berlin wind carrying the sounds of laughter over the silent city.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for all the support, guys. I don't own anything but the plot.**

**Just to clarify, Clary and Simon would be around 22. Jace is 23, making him 18 when the war started.**

* * *

Jace turned his coat collar up, shielding his face from both the bracing wind and unfriendly eyes. Just because he was out of his usual SS uniform doesn't mean people won't recognize him, better safe than sorry. Everything was gray and cold, the streets littered with rubble and rubbish alike. Many shops that lined the streets were boarded up and those that were open hardly had anything left to sell. The city felt emaciated, skeletal, gutted out of its old glory. Jace wove his way through the somber Berlin crowd, keeping his head down, sharply breaking off into a dark, skinny alley. A serious, handsome young man stood at the mouth of the alley.

"Alec," Jace's face split into a grin as he and the other young man walked deeper into the alley before going into a brief embrace.

Alec motioned towards the other end of the alley. Both boys turned, Jace throwing a cautionary glance behind him before following suit. The alley emptied into a small backstreet, the both of them winding their way through a series of alleys and backstreets until they reached a large, squat building tucked behind a mixture of blackened ruins and drab tenements filled to the brim with struggling Berliners. The upper half of the building was blown open by a past bomb, rotting wood and darkened peeling wallpaper on display to deter most prying eyes. A small door painted black on the bottom corner of the building hardly stood out. It would have passed the eyes of anyone who wasn't looking for it. The two stood in front of the door, Alec giving a sharp pattern of raps until a slat of wood from the door slid away.

"Ourobouros," Alec whispered, the sounds of a bolt sliding away followed. The door creaked open revealing a darkened hall.

Jace and Alec went inside, music growing louder and louder as they neared a small staircase at the very back. Sounds of laughter and music floated up as they descended. The lights were dimmed, giving it a mysterious, relaxed aura. A jazz band played lively music on a small platform in one corner, across was a magnificent bar, shiny bottles of liquor beckoning the patrons. The boys seated themselves into one of the tall bar stools.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" the bartender slash proprietor came over their way. His vibrant lemon yellow and royal blue ensemble popping against the surrounding, cat colored eyes traveled from Jace and then to Alec.

"I've missed you Magnus!" Jace cried, Magnus snorted in reply before leaving and coming back with their usual drinks.

"Don't think that those are free. You've been getting lots of freebies from me as it is."

"Magnus!" Jace clutched his chest in mock hurt, "And here I thought we were friends!"

Magnus rolled his eyes but a smile remained on his face. Alec cleared his throat loudly, face serious. Magnus turned his attention to the other boy with his grin growing wider.

"We need documents." Jace cut in before Magnus could say anything to Alec.

"For who, or knowing you, what?"

"Isabelle. Nothing too fancy." Magnus arched an eyebrow in question but didn't press them. He knew just how dangerous what they were asking of him.

"All right, I should have them done in a couple days. Come back then." Then again, he knew how dangerous being himself really is in the Third Reich.

* * *

She was pretty, oh _so very pretty_. Seemingly too pretty to be cooking and cleaning as a maid, but that wasn't really any of Clary's business. Isabelle was what Jonathan had said, she looked about the same age as Clary too. No doubt her being easy on the eyes helped with her brother's choice of hiring her. If Clary had the gall to hire a live-in maid like her brother did her father would only have shouted at her for being so frivolous. Her brother ended up dumping the responsibility of showing the new maid—which they didn't even need—around on her. Clary couldn't help but feeling self-conscious whenever she caught sight of the other girl.

After a half-hearted tour of the house, minus the cellar, they ended up at the kitchen. It was just about the time for lunch, thinking that it would be best to assess just how skilled Isabelle was Clary decided on letting her do the meal.

_Goodness gracious_ Clary stepped back from the clamor Isabelle made, throwing who knows what around the kitchen. A sour, burned smell soon filled the air and Clary ended up having to push a few windows open. Isabelle ended up serving her a thick brown slop of _something_ in a bowl that smelt of something bitter and burned.

"Uh," Clary stared at the meal apprehensively, "What did you make, exactly?"

"Chicken soup." Isabelle said, her tone saying as if it were obvious.

"How do I put this," Clary started, stirring the lumps in the soup, "Don't take this the wrong way but I think maybe you should just focus on other household chores instead."

Isabelle frowned for a moment but ended up smoothing her features over and seemed to be fine after. Clary couldn't bring herself to eat the soup, she even wondered what Simon would say

_Simon!_

Clary's heart seized for a moment. With Isabelle now in the house it was more likely for her secret to be discovered. How could she trust her? Would she run to her brother and father the moment she finds out? Cold dread settled inside of her.

"Are you ill?" Isabelle's voice snapped her back to the present.

"No, no, I decided I wasn't very hungry after all."

* * *

The dining room was quiet save for the tinkling sounds of silverware against porcelain. Dinners at the Morgenstern household weren't exactly an exciting event, especially when it was only the three of them. After Isabelle's disastrous attempt at lunch, Clary decided maybe she ought to just do the cleaning and other things in the house instead.

The monotony of dinner was only broken when Jonathan stood, "I'll go and check on dessert."

Her father shrugged and went back to his meal, uncaring at the odd fact that Jonathan had never showed any interest in food preparations before. Clary, however, did notice and ended up excusing herself under the pretense of some forgotten instruction about the food.

Isabelle's knuckles were white as she gripped the side of the kitchen table. Her body was taut and rigid, her face an expressionless mask save for the tightly clenched jaw. Jonathan was too close to her, his hand dangerously placed at Isabelle's lower back in the pretense of some comforting touch.

"Jonathan. Why don't you go back to the dining room and leave kitchen duties to the women?"

Jonathan gave her a menacing glare but then smoothed over his expression, forcing his words through a tight lipped smile "I just thought I should complement Isabelle here on her great work."

"Great, now _go_." Clary smiled, eyeing Jonathan as he left. She turned her attention back to Isabelle, who was visibly relieved. "Are you alright?"

"I've had worse, but thank you anyway."

"Alright, uh… I'm sorry for the interruption." Clary gave a small smile, from the anger in her brother's eyes earlier, this situation is far from over.

* * *

Even if she had only been in the household for a while, to say that Isabelle had managed to complicate Clary's usual routine of visiting Simon was an understatement. She always seemed to be breathing down Clary's back, or that's what it felt like. Clary resorted to once again sneaking down in the dark of the night to see Simon. She felt like a burglar in her own home.

All seemed well until she reached the first floor. A thin line of light spilled on the floor, the cellar door was opened very slightly. Clary tensed, she was sure she'd closed it the last time. Ill thoughts crept up of Jonathan or Valentine coming downstairs in the dead of night and somehow managing to find out about Simon. Clary quickened her pace but slowed down as soon as she hit the tops of the stairs. Soft laughter drifted up to her, one she could pick up as Simon's but it was mixed with a softer, more feminine one. It wasn't so much as confusion but fear and surprise was what Clary felt as she saw who was down in the cellar. The apples she had brought for Simon fell on the floor in a series of soft thuds.

"Clary!" Simon cried as Isabelle whipped around to see her, dark eyes wide at being caught off-guard.

"I won't tell, if that's what you're thinking." Isabelle broke the stunned silence.

Clary looked at her warily, she knew nothing about this girl, how was she to trust her?

"I know you have no reason to trust me but please, I won't tell. I promise."

Clary knelt down to collect the fallen apples and even as she rose she still had her gaze on the ground, not bothering to look at either Simon or Isabelle in the eye. She didn't have choice but to take Isabelle's word. Clary looked at the both of them, waiting on her reaction.

"Besides," Isabelle continued seriously, "I owe you, especially after your brother…"

"I—uh. It's late, I just came by to give you this." Clary shoved the apples into Simon's arms and left quickly before either could stop her.

* * *

Clary gave a frustrated huff as she gave up the tug-of-war she was doing with her hair, it simply refused to cooperate. She still couldn't get her mind over last night. There was something else other than fear at Isabelle's discovery of her secret. She felt oddly… disapproving. Clary shook her head, she had no reason to feel like that, Simon was just a friend. But she couldn't help it, girls like Isabelle would only chew up and spit out guys like Simon.

Giving up, she placed her brush down on her dressing table and stared back at her freckled reflection. Faint, purplish shadows underneath her eyes were starting to show, evidence from her late night escapades. A soft knock came from her door,

"Come in," she called, stifling a yawn as Isabelle came in balancing a tray of tea.

There was a pregnant pause between them as Isabelle handed her a cup of tea. Neither girl knowing how to address what happened last night. Failing to come up with any words, Isabelle picked up the brush and started to work on Clary's curls. The brushing was soothing, very much reminding Clary of how her mother used to brush her hair just like that.

Isabelle set the brush down and put her face next to Clary's "There, all better."

Clary beamed, Isabelle had managed to tame down the wild nest on her head into something that actually resembled human hair.

"You're secret's safe with me." Isabelle said ever so softly.

"Thank you."


End file.
